Title: Watch Over Me
Summary: Charming crouched down next to Emma's chair, but it wasn't until he went to place his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake that he felt the heat rolling off her in waves. As she would say: oh, crap.
Spoilers: None, really. Set mid-season 2.
Rating/Warning: K+, for language, mostly. Family hurt/comfort and fluff, as per usual.
Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. Not mine, I'm just playing, etc etc.
Author's Note: crowned tiger asked me for another Sick!Emma story a la "Story Hour," so here 'tis! Sixth (?! ... holy crap!) in my little series of "family things the Charmings never got to do so are doing now" but as always, the following can be read as a standalone piece. Also as always, feedback thrills me to pieces. Enjoy!

A cough loud enough to rattle the window panes erupted from the sheriff's office. Charming winced, then let out a quiet sigh. Why his inordinately stubborn daughter had insisted on coming to work today was beyond him.

Probably just because she was inordinately stubborn. Admitting that she wasn't feeling one hundred percent was not something his daughter did on a regular basis. Or at all.

She'd been moving in slow motion from the moment she came down to breakfast that morning. When he'd asked if she was feeling all right, she'd simply nodded before claiming she hadn't slept well the night before. He'd glanced over at his wife, who looked as concerned as he felt.

What Emma had neglected to mention – but her parents still knew because noise carried in that small apartment – was that she hadn't slept well due to her cough. Attempting to talk Emma into staying home to rest had gone as well as Charming had expected, which was not well at all. "I'm fine," she'd finally said for the tenth time as she shrugged on her jacket. Then she'd left the apartment, closing the door behind her and abruptly ending the discussion.

Snow had sighed. "Keep an eye on her, please?" she'd asked her husband.

Keeping an eye on a tired and cranky Emma had turned out to be quite the arduous task. She'd already caught him watching her a few times, which had not gone over well in the slightest.

This time it was the cough that made him glance over his shoulder and into the office. "Oh my God, I'm fine!" she cried when she caught his gaze. The tone of her voice caused Charming to have a sudden flash of what she must have sounded like as an annoyed teenager.

Part of him wanted to argue that she clearly wasn't fine but a larger part of him had no desire to make her any crankier. He simply sighed again before turning back to the files stacked on his desk.

Honestly, she could have stayed home today. Storybrooke was oddly quiet; he didn't think the phone had even rung once. Sheriff and deputy were left with nothing to do but catch up on their paperwork.

Neither of them could stand paperwork.

Charming worked on his file for a few minutes before chancing another peek over his shoulder. Apparently his daughter's mostly sleepless night had begun to catch up with her. Her pen was still poised over her file but her eyelids were starting to flutter. It was clear to Charming that his baby girl was on the verge of falling asleep right where she sat.

He hid an indulgent smile as he stood up and crossed the room to the coffee machine. Had he been able to have things his own way, he would have just let her sleep, but the thought of the argument that would ensue when she woke was exhausting.

He filled a mug three-quarters of the way with the dark liquid and proceeded to add so much half and half and sugar that he didn't understand how it could still taste like coffee. Perhaps that was the point, though. Emma had once sheepishly admitted that the only use she had for coffee was to melt the sugar, a confession that had made Snow throw up her hands in surrender to daughter's – unfortunate, in her opinion – sweet tooth.

By the time Charming stepped into Emma's office with the coffee mug in hand, she'd propped her head on her palm, elbow on the desk, and allowed her eyes to close. "Emma," he called softly, startling her into awareness.

She blinked up at him with a slightly confused expression. Only after spotting the mug in his hand did she understand why he'd called her. "Thanks," she said, accepting the mug when he held it out to her.

The little smile that curled on her lips when she taste-tested the drink told him he'd gotten the proportions correct. Good, good. Maybe the fact that he'd brought her coffee and had prepared it correctly would temper her aggravation with what he was going to ask. "Are you sure you don't want to go home?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "No need to go home. I'm perfectly fine." She put the coffee mug back up to her lips and sipped greedily.

"Yes, the speed at which you're downing that coffee tells me exactly how fine you are," he retorted dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She shrugged. "I'm sorry I don't find paperwork nearly as riveting as you do."

Charming pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at his ridiculously stubborn daughter. Her fatigue was not at all owing to boredom, and they both knew it. Still, arguing with her would only annoy both of them, so he simply let out a quiet breath, left the office, and went back to work.

Barely five minutes later, a soft, plaintive voice asked, "David?"

He turned around in his seat to find Emma staring at him with an uncertain expression. "What is it?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Would you mind running to Granny's and getting me a hot chocolate?" she asked sheepishly. "It, um, would feel nice on my throat."

He swallowed the slight panic that had risen at her mention of a sore throat. Of course she had a sore throat. With a cough that deep, it was a wonder she hadn't pulled chest muscles yet. "Of course I don't mind," he told her with a smile. "Just sit tight; I'll be right back."

Charming shrugged on his jacket and left the station. Oddly enough, walking to the diner from the station was quicker than driving, so he walked. It was just his luck that pretty much all of Storybrooke had decided to have a mid-morning snack at Granny's. The place was packed.

Poor Red was running from table to table, and poor Granny was in the kitchen, trying to keep up with the demand. Still, when Red saw Charming walk in, she flashed him a smile while holding up her index finger to let him know she'd be with him in a minute.

It was actually closer to five minutes before Red got the chance to take Charming's order, for which she apologized profusely. He waved her apology off; clearly, she was a bit busy. "Are you having a two-for-one sale or something?" he joked.

"You'd think!" she replied breathlessly. "I have no idea what's going on, but Granny's thrilled."

"I bet!" he chuckled as he waved to Granny in the kitchen. She waved back before returning her attention to the orders that were still rolling in. "Well, I'm here to make you an easy sale. Just a hot chocolate, please."

"For Emma?" Red asked. When Charming nodded, she grinned. "Coming right up."

He was not at all surprised when she went back into the kitchen to make the drink herself. She returned a minute later with a covered Styrofoam cup. "Just the way she likes it," she said as she handed the cup to him.

"Thanks, Red," he smiled. He paid for the drink and was on his way back to the station with Emma's cocoa in hand.

The first thing he noted when he returned was that the station was quiet … eerily quiet. Of course, Emma was the only one there and it wasn't like she typically made a racket on her own. Still, he couldn't help but feel like something was wrong.

He quickened his pace while feeling somewhat ridiculous for doing so. As he rounded the corner and peeked into the office, he suddenly understood why it was so quiet. Without anyone around to talk to her or bring her coffee, Emma had finally fallen asleep, slumped forward in her chair. Her arms and a couple of manila folders on her desk were standing in for a pillow.

Sighing, Charming set the cup on the edge of her desk while gently calling his daughter's name. She didn't respond, and he shook his head with an indulgent smile. Boring paperwork, indeed. He crouched down next to her chair, but it wasn't until he went to place his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake that he felt the heat rolling off her in waves.

As she would say: oh, crap. Sudden concern flooded him as he tenderly pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. His baby girl was burning up! How had he not noticed this before? "Emma," he said, gently shaking her shoulder. "Emma, wake up."

She groaned as she blearily blinked her eyes open. "What time is it?" she mumbled, sitting up straight in the chair.

"It's time for you to go home," he insisted sternly. "You're sick."

"No, I'm not," she argued wearily. "I just had a crappy night's sleep."

"You had a crappy night's sleep because you're sick. You're running a fever, Emma, and you need to go home and rest."

She muttered something under her breath that Charming didn't catch. He hid an amused smile at how very … Emma she was being. After all, he remembered quite well how much she'd railed against being taken care of when she'd had a simple head cold.

A larger part of him, though, was truly concerned for his daughter. Whatever she was coming down with, it was hitting her fast. Her skin was paler now than when he'd left to pick up her cocoa, and her eyes were glassy. She coughed again, wincing in pain and covering her mouth with one hand while pressing the other against her sternum.

Perhaps he'd assumed she hadn't yet pulled muscles in her chest a bit too soon.

"Emma," he said to her, recapturing her attention. "You need to go home."

She nodded weakly and began to push herself from her chair. She only managed to get about a quarter of the way up before sitting back down hard. "What's the matter?" Charming asked her, panic rising in his chest.

"Nothing," Emma replied, shaking her head. The motion must have made her dizzy because she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment. "I just … really need a nap. I can take one here." She lifted a weak hand to gesture towards the holding cells.

"Absolutely not," Charming replied. "The sheriff is not sleeping in a holding cell, for one. And for another, those cots can't be comfortable. You need to rest, and you have a nice, big, warm, comfy bed at home."

Emma whimpered softly. She shot him a helpless look before dropping her gaze to inspect her hands in her lap. "I, um … I don't think I can get myself home."

Charming's concern shifted into overdrive. For Emma, of all people, to admit that she didn't have the energy to drive herself five minutes down the road, she had to be really sick. As her eyelids started to droop again, Charming knew that she was right. There was no way she was going to be able to get herself home safely.

He smiled gently and held out a hand to her, a silent offer of assistance. She graced him with a tiny, grateful smile of her own as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Her skin felt clammy against his, which was surely due to her fever. After he helped her stand, he once again pressed his hand against her forehead. She allowed the contact for a moment before weakly reaching up and brushing his hand away from her face. "Stop."

Her voice was so soft and weary that he didn't have the heart to argue with her. He simply smiled at her in apology before wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an effort to hold her up.

She groaned. "You do realize that if you tell anyone about this, I'll have to kill you, right?"

"Understood," he chuckled. At least her sarcasm was still there in full force.

Of course, he didn't dare remind her that there was no way of getting her home and up to bed without Snow knowing. Nor did he dare mention how much of a fit Snow was going to pitch the second she saw her. They'd both lived through the fussing Snow had done when Emma had had the cold. Seeing Emma in this condition would only send her into overprotective mother mode in earnest.

Charming simply hugged his daughter closer to him while suppressing the strong desire to press a comforting kiss to the side of her head. First and foremost on his mind was getting his stubborn girl home to rest; the pieces could fall where they may after she was safely tucked into bed.